


Want

by RottenKidNextDoor (PortalofWords)



Series: he was made of leather and gold [1]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Nightmares, Timeline, he needs more attention honestly, jay had it rough, jaylos, references to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PortalofWords/pseuds/RottenKidNextDoor
Summary: Jay is a playboy, but only because he has to be.Not all touches are welcome, but there's nothing he can do to stop it. So he just plays along.





	Want

Eight.

Jay was eight when the strange man first shoved his hands down his pants and told him that “pretty boys didn’t struggle”.

Being pretty wasn’t new for him, but the sensation certainly was. His father had always prided himself on Jay’s looks. “No son of mine is gonna be a pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he’d tell Jay. “Don’t you wanna be dominant, Little Snake?”

And Jay did. Which was why he didn’t tell his father about the man or the groping hands or the hot, disgusting breath on his neck. He hadn’t been dominant there. He’d had no power. The young thief had used a scratchy rag to wipe himself down and limped home, swearing to himself that he’d never let his father see his weakness.

 

x/x

 

 

Eleven.

Jay was eleven when he was kissed for the first time. A real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek.

It was behind the school building late in the afternoon. One of the girls from his Weird Science Class had followed him outside, giggling, and when he turned to ask her why, she’d flung herself at him, pressing his back against the wall and shoving her tongue down his throat. Which was not what he told his dad.

“I kissed a girl today.”

“Was she rich?” Jafar had looked up from his stack of coins, eyeing Jay with a beady stare.

“I got this off of her.” The thief tossed his father a ring, who caught it, his eyes lighting up.

“You’ve finally found something you’re good at,” his father had laughed, wheezing slightly. “Hustling whores, hell, who would’ve thought?”

 

x/x

 

 

Twelve.

Jay was twelve when he got caught redhanded.

He’d been distracted, distracted by a boy across the marketplace who was trying to hide in the folds of his mother’s fur. The pair of hands that caught his wrist wasn’t distracted however and soon the rough voice of the stall woman erased the other boy from his memory.

“Boy,” hissed her voice. “You got away once, you didn’t think I’d be ready for you when you came back?”

The thief twisted his arm, his boots trying to find a shin, but he only found empty, rotting air. “Let me go,” he growled. His voice had started to deepen, but it was still caught somewhere between a man and a boy. He couldn’t lose his hands, he needed his hands to steal. If this woman took a knife to them, it was over. She might as well kill him.

“Hold still you little shit.”

“I need my hands.” Jay looked up at her, his mind racing.

“Well, I still need compensation.” It was hard to determine the woman’s age, the dirt from the island settling into all her features and aging them a hundred years.

“I can give you... a service.” Jafar’s son knew his cheeks were red, could already feel the red hot feeling in his chest and stomach that he would only later recognize as shame. His body was beautiful, yes, but it was tainted.

 

x/x

 

 

Thirteen.

Jay was thirteen when he had sex willingly. That night, he hadn’t brought anything worthwhile home and the doors had been locked and his father indifferent. That night he’d found a pretty girl on the corner, slipped his hand under her shirt, and let her lead him to her place. She said she wanted him.

But when morning came, when he rolled over and began to leave, he knew the want was gone. He had work to do.

“Jay?”

The thief stopped in the doorway, cursing quietly. “Hmm?”

“Are you gonna leave?”

The sun was already rising outside and he needed to get to the marketplace. Giving the half-asleep, naked girl in the bed a grin, he shrugged. “Babe, you know me. I never stick around long.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I’m sure.”

He was lying.

 

x/x

  
  


Fourteen.

Jay was fourteen when he finally kissed a boy.

One of the pirates down on the docks captured Jay’s lips with his own. The thief didn’t know his name, but he tasted like salt and hard cider and Jay was completely floored. They spent the night together, and for a few, shining hours, they were far away from the island and somewhere safe, somewhere he belonged, and the want was back but ten times stronger.

_So this is what it feels like. Sleeping with a boy. Pops can’t know._

“Got a tip that you were making out with one of those pirates down at the docks.” It was the first thing Jafar said to him when he walked through the door.

“No - that wasn’t me.” Damn the stupid grapevine, damn the people his father talked to.

“Are you gay? Did you enjoy it? I bet your dick was twitching with excitement, wasn’t it? Did you sleep with him? Oh I bet you fucked the fucking daylights out of him, god dammit Jay!”

His father had slapped him before on occasion, or pushed him out of the house. But Jay was entirely unprepared for the punch that landed in his gut. Jafar was shouting in Arabic now, cursing, spitting, and for the first time in many, many years, the thief felt a spike of fear strike his spine.

And even when the black eye faded and he cut the stitches out, Jay swore he wouldn’t kiss another boy for as long as he lived.

 

x/x

 

 

 

Fifteen.

Jay was fifteen when he finally realized he was in love.

It took him awhile, he had no way of recognizing it other than the heart palpitations and the blushes. But when the revelation hit, with the sun setting behind the shacks and ramshackle buildings as he watched the white-haired pup run home, the thief stopped in the middle of the road to catch his breath.

How could he have let this happen?

On this dirty, rotten, shithouse of an island. Jafar would murder the two of them, no doubt.

So thief didn’t dare to tell the other boy, not as long as he lived. How could he when he could still feel his father’s fist in his stomach and the slurs in his ears? But he loved the way he smiled, the way his eyes lit up, how the boy who trusted no one trusted him, and so he found a way to keep him close through shoulder touches and playful nudges and smiles.

Because he loved him.

 

x/x

 

 

 

Sixteen.

Jay was sixteen when Maleficent attacked. He didn't mind being almost blown up, he could handle that. It was the other part. The part where she leered at him like those heathens in the marketplace, the part where she felt him up, where her hot breath had reminded him of that first strange man years and years and years ago.

The hands were still following him.

He still had no power.

He was still subservient to everyone who wanted to touch his body, to all those that found it impossible to just stare and had to have a piece for themselves.

And that night, when all the other times came pouring back into his dreams, breaking the dam he built up so high during daylight hours, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Jay, holy shit, Jay, breathe. You gotta breath.” It was a familiar voice and a familiar chant. Carlos was sitting beside him, taking long, exaggerated breaths, guiding Jay’s short gasps. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. His throat was closed and no oxygen was getting through. He was going to suffocate, he couldn't breathe.

“Jay, follow me. Follow my breath. This will pass.”

“It was her,” the thief finally choked out. “She - they all touched me -”

Carlos nodded, listening. “Back on the island?”

“And tonight, her - she felt me up… _Carlos_.”  

“I know, I know, just focus on steady breathing, match mine.” The freckled boy stayed right beside him, waiting for the worst spell to pass to let Jay continue.

“They all… I’m so stupid… boys, Pops said boys should enjoy it.”

“But did you enjoy it?” Carlos’ voice was firm, but quiet.

“No.”

“Then he was wrong. Just breathe, Jay. I’m here.”

And as the night wore out its welcome and the sun began to rise, Jay took a deep breath. The first he'd taken in many, many years.

 

x/x

 

 

Seventeen.

Jay was seventeen when Carlos de Vil told him he loved him back. Not with words, but with a kiss. A kiss that turned into more kisses and hugs and maybe a few tears.

“Dammit Jay,” Carlos said over and over and over. “Dammit.”

And they held each other close that night, as if the other might slip away at first light. But they didn't fade, they didn't leave through a window or a door, and when the sun came through the window in the morning, their skin shone with gold and rose and blush.

Jay didn't feel like leaving today.

 

The want was still there.

 

 

 

 


End file.
